Roderick Spode — Donald Trump
Ben Schott, in the Spectator, imagines The Man of the Hour putting in an appearance in the World of P.G. Wodehouse. Trump inevitably reminds Bertie of Roderick Spode.
I sat alone at breakfast, forking my E and B …, when a haircut burst into the room closely followed by a bovine gentleman the colour of turmeric.
â€˜Ah, you must be Worcestershire! Your uncle Tom has told me all about you.â€™
â€˜Itâ€™s Wooster, actually, but call me Bertie, everyone does.â€™
â€˜And you can call me The Donald,â€™ barked Trump, setting about the breakfast dishes like a haystack in search of a needle.
Hat tip to Sarah Hoyt.